Otti’s Escape

Otti's Escape

In the dark, the trees and bushes stood to attention with military precision. A cat dropped down from the fence and crossed the pavement in front of them. He noted the cat was not all black, so not bad luck then! Fred grabbed Othilie’s warm hand more firmly. He preferred to think about the touch of her green-checked woolly coat flapping so softly around her body, and the unpredictability of her curves bouncing off his side when they walked. His own lean, wiry body moved with accuracy while Otti’s stride was uneven. She seemed to have too much nervous energy, like a skittish foal on too long legs. It irritated him a little that she could not fall into step with him, but it excited him also. The way she leaned towards him as they walked, he was acutely alert to the contact; now the electricity fizzed along his arm, now it zapped his hip. He could not resist imagining the curves he had only ever felt with his hands, and again in his mind he started peeling off her clothes. Now that they were nearly married…surely he was entitled? If he asked her, would she be offended?

They passed the pebbledash wall of their old school building. Its square facade painted in pastel green; it seemed too orderly and peaceful to accommodate memories of teachers being dragged along corridors and soldiers’ boots stamping. Later on, when all their old teachers had been interned and replaced with Germans, there had been the constant niggles of reciting German verbs and prepositions. He found it hard to sit still and was constantly being told off. Now only the large clock face on the adjacent square was reprimanding him. They were late, again, Otti should have been home by 11.

Fred still thought of 11 as two hours after curfew, although the soldiers were gone from their streets for more than half a decade now. The stubbornness of the routines that had befallen them behind the blackouts seemed like a silent conspiracy; after the long occupation Norway was again a free country, but his making sense of his new freedom was just beginning. He still felt caught out when the sun shone through the curtains in the morning.

Like everyone else he found some relief in discussing politics, but not with Otti. With her the conversation was always cheerful. They talked about the new fashions and what people said at work, simple things. Also, they discussed their wedding and children. Whatever Otti was thinking jumped so easily off her lips and shone through her eyes. It was an honesty and simplicity of being that he had longed for.  It was the trust and openness in Otti’s eyes that had kept him from asking of her what he would have asked of any other girl a long time ago.

“Will you see me in?” Otti said. “I hate coming back to an empty house. I think Mum and Dad are still at the theatre.”

“Of course.” He met her eyes reassuringly. He would take care of her always.

She bent to find the keyhole in the dark porch, and his eyes followed the sleek of her neck, her soft brown hair falling forwards over her cheekbones. As her forthright gaze for a moment released him, the white skin of her nape made him a promise he could not resist; it seemed to unfold to him the whole white surface of her naked body. Somewhat uneasy that his commitment to propriety had been so quickly outmaneuvered he followed her sheepishly upstairs into the kitchen.

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